


The Hale School for Reluctant Omegas

by Blush



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Danny, Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bullying, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jackson is a Little Shit, M/M, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Overuse of the word dude, Pack Bonding, Possessive Derek, Scenting, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Unintentional Cuddling, stiles fucks up, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blush/pseuds/Blush
Summary: When Scott presents as a werewolf it's meant to be the end of his and Stiles' friendship as they know it. Scott moves in with the Hale pack and Stiles is told he can't see his best friend again. Then, out of the blue, Stiles catches the eye of an Alpha and gets dragged into the dangerous world of werewolves, rogue hunters and, of course, the inevitable teenage pack drama.Or: the one where Stiles gets caught breaking the rules and has to pay the piper.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore/Everyone, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 86
Kudos: 462





	1. Chapter One

It’s a week before the semester ends and absolutely _no one_ is surprised when Jackson Whittemore shows up, obnoxiously waving a black invitation around the crowded hallway. The shiny gold embossed ‘HALE’ mocks Stiles as he fumbles his textbook in front of Jackson and his ever-present flock of testosterone-ridden goons. 

Inwardly, he groans.

_What a typical fucking Monday._

It isn’t enough that Stiles hasn’t heard back from admissions at the community college he applied to; he has to find out Jackson got into the only private post-secondary school that allows omegas in the county. It feels like a solid kick to the teeth.

It’s not that Stiles himself wants to be surrounded by the werewolf elite, he just wants Jackson to stop getting everything _he_ wants gift wrapped with a perfect little bow on top. Stiles has every intention of following in his father’s footsteps by going to college and then on to law enforcement.

“Watch it, Stilinski.” Jackson kicks the book out of his way and Stiles watches as it slides further down the hall and out of reach.

Stiles dives through the crowd to rescue it before it gets trampled by this season’s most popular kicks and yelps, “What’d my physics textbook ever do to you, Jackson?”

“It was in my way . . . and I don’t like it when things get in my way.”

“Well then, like, walk _around_ it, maybe. You ever think of that?” Stiles bends to pick it up and Jackson, using a minimal amount of effort while Stiles is already off-balance, pushes him out of the way. Stiles’ back hits the floor with a solid thud, and he gasps for breath. Loose papers spill out all over the hallway and he hears snickers coming from the surrounding students. 

_Fuck high school._

The hot agonizing feeling of embarrassment that creeps up on him is nothing new and Stiles should be used to Jackson’s bullshit by now, but he isn’t. It still _suck_ s.

Stiles blinks up at the florescent lights above as Jackson bends and smacks the invitation squarely on top of Stiles’ forehead.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell McCall you said hello.”

Jackson and his douche crew move on, and Stiles is left to yell after them, “That macho shit isn’t gonna fly at the Hale school, Jackson! And you don’t gotta do me any favours. I talk to Scott _all_ the time.”

“I’m sure you do, Stilinski.”

Stiles gets up and mutters, “Hope the Hale’s put you through _hell_ ,” under his breath as he dusts himself off. He finally picks up his book and shoves the scattered papers inside his backpack, noting more than a few shoeprints seem to have magically appeared on his bio homework.

“So, you guys are actually going through with the meet?” Allison asks from where she's placing her jacket in her locker.

“Did you ever doubt it?”

Allison shoots him a look and says, “I think you’re taking big risks for nothing but, if you’re going anyway, do you think you can get a letter to him for me?”

Stiles’ first thought is _hell no_ because Allison is tall, and he’s sat in the backseat of his dad’s patrol car. It is _not_ the most comfortable place to be. Plus, Scott would murder Stiles if he got Allison into trouble with the law.

Trespassing is one thing, but the Hale pack has strict rules about new werewolves. And one of those rules is no outside contact for a year. Something about pack bonding _blah blah blah_.

If Stiles gets caught carrying a letter from Allison, they wouldn’t just discipline him, but Allison as well. He’d ask his dad how that worked if it wouldn’t dredge up unwanted suspicions. He opens his mouth to say no but Allison’s hopeful look wins out, and Stiles caves embarrassingly fast.

“For the record, I know it’s not the smartest decision we’ve ever made,” Stiles says, and against his better judgement adds, “Fine, meet me after school.”

Stiles tries to stop overthinking about tomorrow night, and about werewolves in general, and moves on to his next class instead.

_Human bio, great._

**

Stiles’ first thought when he gets home is to play videogames until he passes out, but his English final is tomorrow and he’s at least two chapters behind. His dad is pulling a double at the station and won’t be home until morning, so Stiles doesn’t bother cooking and heats some leftovers in the microwave instead.

He takes the stairs two at a time to his room and spreads his study materials out on the desk. Stiles then spends a solid three hours sorting through notes and studying English lit — like the good student he is, before getting sucked into the endless world that is the _internet_.

Stiles is deep into werewolf law and is skimming through their customs, thankful that this is mostly public knowledge. Nothing he finds is helpful though, and he wishes he’d paid more attention in his werewolf history classes.

It isn’t long before his thoughts turn to the letter Allison hastily scribbled out on crinkled paper in the school parking lot. He’d hidden it in-between pages of a book after ensuring it wasn’t actually addressed to Scott, and that Allison was smart enough not to sign her name.

It’s been three months since Scott presented and two agonizing months since Stiles lost his best friend to the Hale pack. Visitors to the compound were not allowed and Stiles’ dad explained to Stiles that humans — even an omega like Stiles — wouldn’t be welcomed without an invitation from a fully-fledged pack member.

So, Scott and Stiles cooked up a plan to meet near the edge of the preserve the night before every full moon. Tomorrow would be the first time they’d seen each other since the parting ceremony with Scott, Scott’s mom and Allison. And damned if Stiles was going to miss out on the chance to see his best friend again.

Stiles’ dad told him the pack had rules for a reason, but rules were made to be broken . . . right?

_Right?_


	2. Chapter Two

Stiles knows being in the preserve this late — unchaperoned and on the night before the full moon no less, is a stupid idea. If his dad finds him, he’ll be grounded and if the Hale pack finds out he’s been trespassing on their turf Stiles is dead freakin’ meat. 

He’s parked the jeep on a side road and walked at least a few hundred meters through the trees, stumbling over protruding roots the dim light of his flashlight doesn’t illuminate. Stiles makes a mental note to replace the batteries for next time and keeps going. He jumps three feet high at every rustling leaf and scurrying animal and tries to tamp down the anxiety he’s feeling.

Breaking the law + potentially getting ripped apart by werewolves = Stiles riding that high between a panic attack and an adrenaline rush. And at this point it could go either way.

“Scott, buddy, you _owe_ me.”

A vivid picture of blood-thirsty werewolves dragging him down to a dank basement appears unbidden in his mind and he cringes. His overactive ADHD brain is exaggerating, probably, but even _Greenburg_ is smart enough to know Stiles is crossing a line here.

But Scott’s his best friend, shiny new werewolf teeth and all, and if the only way Stiles can see him is by having secret late-night jaunts in the preserve, then so be it. The letter Allison wrote is tucked securely into his jeans pocket and he’s pretty sure it’s only another kilometer or so to the meeting point.

The woods get eerily quiet the longer he walks, and Stiles doesn’t fucking like it, but he keeps going. He’s got promises to keep and it's too late to flake out now. 

The meeting place is a small clearing near a brook and Stiles knows he’s made it when he hears the soft sounds of running water. When he arrives, he spots a lone figure crouching by a tree and almost didi mau’s the heck out of there when it springs up and starts running at him, full speed.

He feels an immense relief when he gets an armful of Scott and hugs him back as tight as he can. Scott is shaking like a golden retriever and Stiles snorts because, duh, dude’s a werewolf and comparing him to a dog is hilarious.

“Duuude, I frickin’ missed you! How’s Allison? Has she asked about me? What about my mom? How’s the new PS5. . .they won’t let us have any technology and man when I tell you it _sucks. . .”_

“Woah, Scott. Allison and your mom are fine and the PS5 is _dope_ you don’t even know what you’re missing out on there, but I wanna hear all about your new werewolf homies. Did you replace me?” Stiles sticks out his bottom lip in a pout and Scott laughs, and it’s a sound Stiles wasn’t aware he’d missed until he hears it.

“No-one could hold a torch to you, Stiles. We’ve been best friends since the third grade.”

Stiles snickers, victorious, “That’s right. Bash bro’s for _life_ ,” And holds his hand up for a high-five that doesn’t get returned.

Scott groans and says, “Dude, we don’t even play hockey, we play lacrosse.”

“Same thing different pitch,” Stiles shrugs, “Oh, and I uh, quit the team after you. . .left.”

“You quit? Dude, why? You loved lacrosse.”

Stiles plops his ass down on a fallen log and pulls his sweater sleeves over his hands. It’s gotten colder since he stopped walking.

“It’s not as fun without you there, plus I was pretty much just a bench warmer and. . .” He trails off.

“And Jackson,” Scott finishes for him.

“And Jackson. But it’s okay,” Stiles flashes a mischievous grin, “He’s gonna be your problem soon.”

Scott’s face twists in disgust and says, “Yeah, I heard. Isaac Lahey too. You remember him?

“The guy my dad investigated for Mr. Lahey’s disappearance? Yikes.”

Scott sits down next to him and nudges his shoulder. “I’d say I hope you get an invitation, but I found out why they invite humans to come live with us. Trust me, you wouldn’t be interested.”

“Do they drink their blood? Dude, do you sparkle in the sunlight? Is this _Twilight_?”

“Shut up, man. Have you ever wondered why it’s only omegas that get invited?”

Honestly, no. Stiles just knows only a few people get the honour of attending the Hale private school every year. He’s never really spent much time thinking about it — just added it to the list of “unattainable” things outside Stiles’ reach.

“Think about it,” Scott continues, “The pack has to grow and repopulate somehow, and the number of werewolves presenting are way too low for that.”

Stiles recoils. “But omega humans can’t have werewolf children.”

“They can if they take the bite.”

***

Stiles is a little shook by the details he’s just learned about the Hale pack and the morally grey repopulation game they’re playing with human omegas. Scott is quick to tell him it’s all consensual, though he can’t explain how.

Scott tells him all about the compound and swears him to secrecy using the ancient unbreakable code of the pinky promise and it’s not like Stiles has anyone to tell anyway, so he agrees.

Apparently, the Hale’s have rigid rules and mean punishments if they’re broken. Scott prattles on, breaking like the _first rule_ of Hale club, but Stiles smiles and listens.

Scott tells him he wakes up at oh-dark-stupid in the morning and falls asleep exhausted in a pile of other pack members at the end of the day. That the training is rigorous, and the werewolf history classes are so long he struggles to stay awake in them.

And it’s totally worth the risk in the end when Stiles gifts him the letter from Allison. Scott is ecstatic and tells him he’ll read it when he gets back home. He promises to write her back for next time.

“I should get back before they find out I’m missing.”

“Yeah, and I’ve gotta get back before my dad sends out a search party. Same time next month?”

“I’ll be here.” Scott gives him another hug and then disappears through the trees, leaving Stiles standing by the river, alone.


	3. Chapter Three

Stiles thinks he can see the road where he’s parked the jeep through the thinning trees and walks faster. He has to get home soon, or his dad will definitely get suspicious. Before, he could just say he was at Scott’s and lost track of time. Now, there isn’t anywhere else he really goes, so if he’s not at school he’s usually at home or visiting his dad at the station.

While Stiles is thinking up a good excuse for his absence, he’s also working hard to concentrate on his footing in the dark. Some dead leaves and dirt give way and he starts sliding down into a gully. He drops his flashlight, and it rolls away out of reach. The light shuts off and leaves him momentarily blinded in the dark. He stumbles and tries to catch his footing but manages to muck that up and trips over his own feet.

The only light comes from the near-full moon and as his eyes slowly adjusts, he sees a flash of movement through the trees at the top of the hill. He hits the dirt so fast he has to spit out some dead foliage that’s somehow made it into his mouth and swears under his breath.

_Real classy, Stiles._

The edge of his sweater rides up and he hisses as the skin of his stomach connects with the cold ground. He’s uncomfortable but all he can think about now are the _what if’s_ of whether it’s a freakin’ werewolf or not.

A deep, throaty growl cuts through the silence and a cold sweat breaks out on Stiles’ skin.

_Yep, definitely a werewolf._

Stiles hasn’t been this fucked since he broke Greenburg’s nose at lacrosse practice last year, but detention sounds surprisingly good right about now. He wonders if they would let him take his own ass to jail. Imagine that, _‘Hey dad, no not here for a visit. Just gonna make myself at home in cell number nine. Thanks.’_

As Stiles lies on the ground willing himself to become invisible, he hears voices carrying down to him. He debates making a run for it but he’s not entirely sure how close the jeep is, and outrunning a werewolf is impossible even if he were Usain Bolt.

Still, he can’t shake off the urge to get the heck out of there, so he slowly crawls back to the top of the hill. He pokes his head up so he can see just over the edge and watches two shadowy figures, one of which is holding a bow. They look dressed for a weekend paintball session, black tactical gear from head to toe.

So, not hikers. And _definitely_ not werewolves.

_Rogue hunters._

He shivers. He knows his dad spends a lot of time working with the Hales trying to catch these guys before they get a chance to hurt more werewolves. Most hunters are born into families that teach hate and fear of werewolves from childhood. They are incredibly crafty and don't hesitate to kill, even if their targets are children. 

Stiles suddenly wishes he hasn’t left his cellphone in the jeep — he could’ve called it in — but he didn’t want to risk taking it with him and losing it in the woods. Try explaining _that_ one to his dad.

Stiles arches his neck and sees a pissed off looking dude with two arrows sticking out of his chest. He's propped up against the trunk of a tree, barefoot, wearing blue jeans and a dark henley that gets darker with every passing minute.

Stiles watches as the injured man leans over and spits out what Stiles thinks is blood and sees the man’s nostrils flare a split second before he looks up and makes direct eye contact with Stiles. His eyes flash a deep red and Stiles feels his mouth fall open, slack jawed.

_Oh shit._

Stiles ducks down, but knows it’s too late. He’s been seen.

No one would accuse Stiles of being smart, but he thinks it’s safe to assume he’s found the werewolf. He listens for any indication the hunters know he’s there, but they continue their conversation as if nothing happened.

“Tie him up, we’ll put him in the trunk of the car. Gerard will want to talk to this one.” Stiles doesn’t miss the inflection on the word ‘talk’ and somehow inherently knows they mean ‘ _excruciating torture’_ instead.

It’s hard to tell from the werewolf’s face, but Stiles is somehow sure he knows it too.

Another throaty growl and the alpha peels his teeth back and promises, “I’m going to rip your throats out. With my teeth.”

This guy is obviously seriously injured and needs medical attention. He’s certainly in no shape to be making threats to these guys, and Stiles chalks it up to false bravado. Stiles knows he can’t just leave the guy there to die.

“Help me clear out the trunk. That one’s not going anywhere.”

Stiles watches them walk out of his line of sight, one of them landing a solid kick to the alpha’s stomach on his way to the road. He waits a minute before crawling slowly over the edge of the hill and crouches all the way over to him, praying he isn’t heard.

When he gets close, he holds his hands out in what he hopes is a ‘ _hey, I’m here to help so please_ _don’t kill me’_ kind of way. The alpha tenses up but doesn’t pull away so Stiles grabs the thick rope that’s holding the guy’s wrists together.

He struggles with the ropes for a few seconds and whispers, “Dude must’ve been a boy scout or something I can’t get this knot undone.”

The guy huffs his annoyance and says, “There’s a knife in my back pocket. Use it.”

“Woulda been nice to know earlier, but okay.”

Stiles ignores the glare he gets in response and sticks his hand, unceremoniously, into the guy’s back pocket. He flips the knife open. 

_Who’s the boy scout now?_

It’d almost be funny if they weren’t currently in a life-or-death situation. Stiles starts frantically cutting the ropes, trying to ignore the very sharp claws at the ends of the fingertips. The knife slips and the guy swears. He’s nicked his hand with the blade.

“Sorry!” Stiles bites his lip and keeps cutting. Suddenly, his hands are free, and Stiles gets pulled closer and he struggles in an iron grip. Stiles realizes he’s being scented, if the feeling of rough stubble on his neck is anything to go by.

“You smell like pack,” he pulls back, eyeing him suspiciously, “ _how_ do you smell like my pack?”

Stiles is abso-fucking-lutely not answering that and ignores the question, entirely.

“Let’s get the heck out of here, big guy. I’m Stiles, by the way.” He helps pull the guy to his feet, heaving under the weight. This guy is _solid,_ and Stiles is definitely not drooling — he’s _not._

The guy grits his teeth and Stiles doesn't think he's going to get a response until he does. 

“Derek.”

“Okay, Derek. Let’s go before your friends come back and finish what they started.”


	4. Chapter Four

Stiles nearly falls to his knees in relief when he finally spots the blue jeep parked on the side of the road. Werewolves are _heavy,_ and Stiles knows he can’t hold Derek up for much longer.

“That heap of junk is yours?”

“Dude, do I look like an Uber driver to you? Be nice to Roscoe or I’ll drop your ass right here,” Stiles scoffs, “Are you a Tesla driver? You look like freakin’ Tesla driver.”

Derek grunts his response and pulls the arrows out of his chest with no hesitation. Stiles feels acrid bile rise in his throat as Derek tosses them to the ground.

He's always been a little squeamish — Stiles distinctly remembers passing out in ninth grade bio when they dissected a frog. Watching a man rip bloody arrow heads out of his body is bringing back some unwanted memories. 

“Jesus, give a guy some warning before you do shit like that!” Stiles throws the door open and deposits Derek unceremoniously into the passenger seat.

He throws a quick look over his shoulder while he rounds the hood of the jeep, but the hunters are nowhere to be seen. Still, he trips up on literally _air_ and almost smokes his head off the front grill. Sheepishly, he looks through the windshield, hoping Derek hasn’t been paying attention. No such luck. Derek is staring at him intently, like maybe he thinks Stiles is going to run off.

Stiles shivers but blames it on the cool night air and not on being in the crosshairs of a werewolf for the first time. 

He gets in the driver’s seat with, thankfully, no more outrageously embarrassing moments. Stiles gives Derek, who’s slumped low in his passenger seat, some massive side-eye. Stiles isn’t stupid. He knows he’s totally busted but he’s also not above begging for lenience, seeing as how he’s just rescued a member of the Hale pack.

Stiles turns the key in the ignition and slams it into gear. The tires spit dirt as he pulls out onto the road and they leave the preserve in the rear-view.

***

The drive is uneventful, until it’s not. Derek suddenly peels his shirt off and Stiles almost swerves them into a ditch, just narrowly avoiding a lamp post. He gets treated to an exasperated glare from Derek, and Stiles makes a conscious effort to keep the damn jeep on the road.

“How’s your hand?” he asks.

“It’s healed already,” Derek uses his shirt to sop up some of the blood and then holds pressure to the wounds on his chest.

“And the arrows?”

“No. They were dipped in monkshood, which is why I couldn’t fight off the hunters.”

“Oh.” Stiles has no idea what the hell that is, but it sounds like the guy needs a hospital. It’s only a few miles to the town line so he offers to drop Derek off at the Beacon Hills ER.

“No hospitals.”

“Dude, you got shot with arrows and _poisoned._ That sounds like an emergency to me!”

“It’ll heal. It will just take time.”

Stiles realizes he needs to either take the guy all the way back to the compound on the preserve or sneak him into his house. There’s really no other option because his dad’s probably freaking out wondering where the hell Stiles is.

“Okay. . . my place it is.”

They drive along in silence for a while until Derek asks him the question Stiles still hasn’t made up a decent enough excuse for.

“What were you doing in the preserve anyway? That’s Hale territory.”

“Uh, just out for a brisk walk, my PE teacher says it’s good for your health.”

“I don’t think Alpha Hale will feel like that’s a good enough excuse for an unchaperoned human omega to be trespassing into Hale territory.”

“Well, lucky for me I don’t answer to Alpha Hale, now do I?”

Stiles sees Derek’s eyes flash red in warning, so Stiles is quick to add. “I mean, if I hadn’t been there, you’d be stuffed in the trunk of a hunter’s car so. . .”

Derek is silent, but Stiles knows he’s right and it gives him a little more confidence. His dad will probably still ground him though.

“Besides, what were _you_ doing wandering around the woods late at night, anyway?”

“Trying to find the owner of a trash heap parked on Hale land.”

Stiles cringes.

“Oh.” 


	5. Chapter Five

When they pull into the drive the front porch light is on, but his dad’s car is missing. Stiles does a little happy dance and accidentally hits the horn with his fist, but doesn’t care if he wakes up the neighbours because he isn’t getting grounded today.

Stiles finds a note in the kitchen explaining his dad has to cover the night shift for a sick co-worker. There’s a twenty-dollar bill attached, and Stiles assumes it’s for pizza.

Small victories. Stiles really has no idea how he’d explain the half-naked werewolf he’s showing to his bedroom.

As far as he’s aware this is the first werewolf, other than Scott, that’s ever been invited into their home. As much as his dad has mad respect for the Hale pack, he’s always kept his work separate from his home life. Plus, Stiles is pretty sure his dad wanted to keep him away from the dangers that automatically come from being in close contact with werewolves. 

A lot of good that did him. 

Stiles helps Derek up the staircase and wishes he’d spent like a minute cleaning his room before leaving to meet Scott. He flicks the light on and hesitates by the door. There are papers all over the place, his bed is unmade, and his favourite sheets are completely mussed up.

“The power rangers? Really?”

“Fuck you, Tommy’s the _shit_. And don’t get dirt in my bed, okay. I really don’t feel like doing laundry this late at night.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him and gestures to his absolutely filthy body. Stiles realizes they both need a shower before they do anything else.

“Shit, yeah, the bathroom’s just down the hall.”

Stiles helps Derek sit down on the edge of the bathtub and goes to get a couple clean towels from the linen closet. When he gets back, he sees that Derek hasn’t moved.

“Do you want me to like, call someone from your pack to help?”

“No, they can’t see me like this.”

Stiles sets the towels down on the counter and says, “Dude, no one is going to judge you for getting poisoned. You survived. That’s all that really matters isn’t it?”

Derek leans forward and looks Stiles in the eye. “There’s a lot you don’t know about pack dynamics. This would be considered a show of weakness.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Okay, sourwolf. But I feel like Alpha Hale would forgive you, just this once.”

Derek laughs and shakes his head, and Stiles has the sneaking suspicion that Derek is laughing _at_ him.

Stiles doesn’t want to point it out, but he’s pretty sure Derek is still too weak to shower on his own. So, he stands there awkwardly shifting from foot to foot until Derek reaches over and turns the water on.

Derek tosses his blood-soaked shirt onto the floor and tries to get the clasp of his jeans open with one hand. Stiles watches him struggle; thankful the claws were put away while they were in the jeep.

Stiles senses that Derek isn’t the type to ask for help, so he places a hand on top of Dereks and says, “Dude, let me help.”

He waits for Derek’s nod of approval and then unclasps it. He hesitates a little too long, making it a little _too_ weird, and jumps a little when Derek grits out, “Just get them off, Stiles.”

“Yeah, okay fine.” Stiles peels the jeans down Derek’s muscular legs, trying to keep his eyes averted.

“The boxers too.”

Jesus Christ, today could _not_ get any worse.

Derek steps into the shower while Stiles stands there awkwardly holding the guys underwear. What a sick turn of events today turned out to be. Not to mention he has class in less than six hours.

“The dirt's not going to go away on it’s own, Stiles.”

Stiles groans.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Stiles pulls the fabric curtain back and sees that yeah, the blood is pooling around the drain, but dirt is still caked on in some places. Some of those places, Stiles is fully intending to steer clear of.

And can you really blame him? He’s eighteen! And the big bad wolf with a six pack and great hair is standing right in front of him. There’s no way his overactive hormonal body isn’t going to react to this.

“Uh, maybe it’s better if you switch to a bath instead, and then you can sit down.” 

Derek switches the shower off and Stiles tosses the plug into the drain when Derek slowly sits down. He’s obviously still in pain but, thankfully, the wounds in his chest have stopped bleeding.

Stiles reaches for the soap he likes to use when his brain slows down enough for him to enjoy a bath. It’s not that often, so there’s a lot left in the bottle. He squirts a copious amount under the stream of water until he hears Derek chuckle. The scent of mangos fill the small bathroom. 

“Are you trying to give me a bubble bath right now?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like bubble baths, Derek. That would make you a sociopath. _Everyone_ likes bubble baths.”

Stiles gets a clean loofah and lathers up the soap. He goes to work scrubbing Derek’s (manly) chest and his (ripped) abs and wills his own body to behave. He notices Derek is staring at him, but he ignores it. Stiles needs to be quick about this before he embarrasses himself any more than he already has.

When he finishes, he lets the water go and gets the towel ready for Derek to step into. Stiles wraps the fluffy, clean towel around Derek's shoulders and then steps back.

“I’ll get you some of my old sweats. Hopefully, they’ll fit you.”

Stiles leads Derek back to his bedroom and rummages in his dresser, pulling out clothes and tossing them out on the floor.

Derek raises his eyebrows at the mess, but doesn’t comment.

“Ah ha!"

Stiles pulls out his one pair of oversized grey sweats, the one with the TMNT logo that’s mostly worn off, and tosses them at Derek.

“Thanks.”

“No problemo, just uh, make yourself at home okay? I’m gonna go shower.”

Derek nods and Stiles takes a clean set of pajamas with him to the bathroom. He wonders if Derek’s super saiyan werewolf hearing would let Derek know Stiles is rubbing one out in the shower, and then decides not to risk it.


	6. Chapter Six

When Stiles gets out of the shower, he feels clean and refreshed yet bone tired. He dresses quickly, pulling loose pajamas over still-damp skin. Exhaustion from the previous events finally catches up with him and suddenly he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Stiles wants nothing more than to dive face first into his bed, but something makes him hesitate at the bathroom door. There’s an injured werewolf in his room and Stiles really has no idea what he should be doing about that. But he knows he can’t stay in there forever, so he bites the bullet and cleans up the blood-soaked clothing, so his dad doesn’t find them in the morning. 

When he gets back, he finds Derek sitting awkwardly on the edge of his bed having absolutely _no right_ looking that good in Stiles’ ratty sweats. Derek was obviously waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom and now he and Stiles are at an impasse.

Derek must have turned off the main light at some point because only the soft glow of the nightlight beside his bed lights up the room and Stiles cringes. He’s slept with one since before his mom died and never really got used to sleeping without one.

That doesn’t make it any less embarrassing though, knowing an alpha werewolf knows you sleep with a freaking nightlight. Stiles uses the towel to scrub his hair dry and hides his face for a moment.

“So, uh, I’m gonna go crash on the couch, okay? You take the bed, mi casa es tu casa or whatever.”

Derek eyes him, an amused smirk on his face. “Stiles, we should stay together. You know, in case we were followed.” Derek must have seen Stiles’ panic because he hastily adds, “It’s unlikely, but there is strength in numbers. And I’m still pretty. . . weak from the wolfsbane.”

Stiles thinks he looks uncomfortable admitting that so he says, “Look, you can be weak in front of me. I’m literally the weakest there is. You could easily huff and puff and…”

Derek holds up a hand to interrupt, “Don’t you _dare_ make a wolf joke, Stiles. I think you’ve met your quota for today. Besides, you risked your life to save a total stranger. That’s the opposite of weakness. That’s strength.”

“Could chalk it up to pure stupidity but, alright then, shove over, wolfman.”

Derek rolls his eyes and pulls back the messy blanket and waits for Stiles to join him. The first thing Stiles notices is that Derek is a veritable furnace, the heat his body gives off is unnatural. Even though they’re not touching, it feels like a sauna under the covers and Stiles knows he’s going to pass out within minutes.

They lay in silence for a few moments, and Stiles turns away from Derek and yawns.

“Stiles.”

“Hm?”

“You’re still not off the hook for trespassing, you know. Tomorrow you’ll have to stand in front of the Hale pack and explain why you were in the preserve.”

Stiles groans. Scott is gonna kill him for getting himself caught literally the first time they meet up.

“Next time I’m letting them stuff you in the trunk.”

Derek chuckles, reaches over and pulls the nightlight out of the wall. Stiles doesn’t mind the darkness so much, when he knows the monsters in the night are already in his bed.

***

Stiles wakes up slowly, and he knows it’s past dawn from the light outside the window. It takes a few moments for him to realize the door to his room is open, and that his dad is standing in the doorway, still dressed in his uniform from night shift.

“Ugh, don’t tell me I slept in _again_.”

Stiles rolls over and comes face-to-face with Derek, who sits propped up against the headboard, still shirtless. If someone didn’t know any better it almost looked like he was naked under the covers and Stiles jerks upright in bed and says, “Uh, dad, this isn’t what it looks. . .”

“Alpha Hale.”

“Sherriff Stilinksi.”

_Derek_ is Alpha Hale? Stiles lies back and groans. He is truly screwed.


End file.
